


A Series of Several Familiarities

by theangstyace



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: M/M, Memory Loss, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 07:29:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8153923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangstyace/pseuds/theangstyace
Summary: The way he woke up was not how he expected; bewildered and missing a memory in the middle of a crumbling ruin, grasping at straws as to who he was and why he was there. It was too early for him to come back, Mikleo knew that somewhere deep down this wasn't a good sign. There was an outward panic as Sorey's light slowly flickered and died. Every seraphim and human waited with baited breath; did this mean that Maotelus' blessing was restored? Or did it mean a re-entry into another Age of Chaos?





	

**Author's Note:**

> whew, didn't think I'd ever get around to this. I decided to make this a three-parter instead of a long one shot because I have found out that I have zero stamina when it comes to writing. Enjoy this little blurb of madness. This was originally for Sormikweek 2016

    It felt like a rude awakening the first time he regained consciousness. Harsh beams of sunlight stabbed at his closed eyelids, making his aching head feel worse;which wasn’t the least of his pain. His back muscles spasmed every few seconds and his neck was stiff, protesting as he stretched. On the other hand, his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton while his tongue felt like sandpaper against his chapped lips.

    He sat up quickly, despite the protest of his joints, but soon doubled over again as a wave of nausea flowed over him. He put his head in his hands and took a deep breath. Slowly, he opened his eyes, peeking through his gloved fingers. No wonder why he was so sore; he had found himself lying on an uneven patch of crumbling cobblestone. Gradually, he lifted his head from his hands and looked around. Like the floor, the walls looked like they could collapse at any moment. The entire place looked like it had once been used for something of great importance. Now, he wasn't sure of _what_ it was used for now.

    (Speaking of something he wasn’t exactly sure of.)

    _Who am I?_

    This could pose a bit of a problem. He racked his brain for something, anything. His mind couldn’t really settle on a singular memory. Blurry images of places raced by, too fast to grasp at. Faces he couldn’t quite make out went a bit slower. He furrowed his brow, letting out an irritated huff. Absentmindedly, he tugged at his cloak--a threadbare and gray looking piece of fabric. It came apart as he rubbed it between his fingers. A few blurry faces became constant until it was just one. Blue, white and violet blurred together and a faint voice echoed in the back of his mind. _So you can put lipstick on a pig._

    He felt himself smile at the familiar tone, lighthearted and teasing. It felt right.

    (So why can’t he put a name to anything?)

    He turned over on his side, steadying himself on his hands and knees. As quickly as his protesting limbs and churning stomach would allow, he stood. His legs wobbled horribly and the world dipped and swayed, threatening to send him tumbling onto the hard ground. Thankfully he managed to stay upright. His vision had begun to spin a little less, albiet a headache was forming behind his eyes.

    ( _Are you okay, Sorey?_ ) (Was _that_ his name?)

    The same voice he remembered earlier rang in the back of his mind free from the teasing tone earlier. It was now laced with concern.

    ( _I’m alright--_ )

    A drop of water landed on his forehead, tracing a line down to the tip of his nose. Then another. Then another. Then--Since when was water salty? He wasn’t close to the ocean, was he? That’s a silly thought, of course not; he could see the sun through a hole in the ceiling. If he was underwater, he would be very dead at that point.

    (But wait, wasn’t he dead already?).

    Why was he crying? _It was just water_ , he reasoned. _It’s not that special._

( _But it_ is _special. It makes up about seventy percent of a person’s body and earth is about seventy five percent comprised of water. All living organisms need it to survive so of_ course _it's special._ )

        (Because water means home. Water means amethyst colored eyes twinkling with humor. Water means spending hours cocooned in the soft crackle of a fire. It is the smell of worn leather-bound books. Water was safe, water was powerful, water was _him._ )

        ( _“I'm alright, Mikleo.”)._

He felt himself smile as his own words that echoed in the forefront of his mind. The smile shortly turned into a grin because while the name he had recalled for himself earlier resonated with familiarity, the name _Mikleo_ sounded was just as well known. Sorey found it strange how just the thought of those vague words and memories sent his heart racing; or how it made his thoughts jump and spin. Was it always like this when he was alive? Was the pure connotation of this enigmatic person enough to send him into a state of emotional turmoil?

    He wasn’t sure on many things at the moment; but he knew for certain he needed to find this Mikleo, a person shrouded in a mystery created by his own mind.


End file.
